


hum with me (til the morning comes)

by Ran



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Shotgunning, bc thats a personal weakness of mine ngl, high!sex party au basically, this is literally just an excuse to have lance and keith get high and have mindblowing sex lbr here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ran/pseuds/Ran
Summary: “Didn’t know the party was out here,” Keith says quietly, conversationally, as he steps forward and leans against the porch rail next to Lance. His voice is like a breath Lance was too late to catch.“Party’s anywhere you want it to be, bud,” Lance murmurs, caught by the way Keith keeps watching him. He tells himself that’s the only reason these words tumble out of his mouth like an admission. He lifts the bowl as an offering to Keith, who takes it gingerly and lights a quick drag. Lance is captured by the way the small fire lights up Keith’s already sharp features—the night sky and flames make those edges even deadlier, ready to cut anyone who dared to get close.Lance wants to dare. Wants to embody defiance with every raptured look he offers to Keith.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 261





	hum with me (til the morning comes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BleedingTypewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingTypewriter/gifts).



> Okay so this is entirely dedicated to Kris (@BleedingTypewriter on here) because the other night I was super high at a party and had the distinct thought, "Wow it feels like I'm inside one of Kris' fics" and thus, this was born. Love you babe <3 
> 
> Title comes from john de sohn's song Hum with Me 
> 
> Also this is unbeta'd because I'm a heathen

It’s about ten after midnight when Lance thinks that maybe throwing a rager the weekend before finals week wasn’t his brightest idea. 

Not because the party got out of hand—oh no, it fits right in the palm of what Lance had hoped would be the night. Except. 

_Except_. 

Keith fucking Kogane actually decided to accept Lance’s half-hopeful, half pitiful excuse of an invitation during Friday afternoon’s Intro into Theology course. 

And sure, Lance has a _slight_ crush on his favorite peer to argue with in class. And _maybe_ he’d gone on so long about Keith at home that his roommates Pidge and Hunk told him under no uncertain terms if he didn’t ask Keith to come to their party that Lance would be sentenced to drinking a bottle of José in a night. 

_Jokes on them, though_ , Lance had thought, since he had _already_ been planning on drinking away his sorrows about never making headway with Keith throughout the whole fucking semester. 

So yeah, _fuck him_ , when he just waltzes into Lance’s house in too goddamn tight jeans and the reddest shirt Lance has ever seen under a black, frayed denim jacket—looking so unfairly cool in such an _infuriatingly_ effortless way that Lance just wants to jump his fucking bones. 

Especially since after one mutual shot between them—Lance was _goaded_ , his friends’ eyes daring him to _keep up_ —Lance had promptly decided his first party experience with Keith Kogane would _not_ end up a drunken mess. A bit after midnight, Lance sneaks out to the balcony to light up a bowl to calm his nerves instead. He doesn’t plan on being out in the cold long—really, just to smoke enough to help him _chill the fuck out_ , so he doesn’t even grab a coat. As soon as the embers start to die after that first prolonged inhale though, the back door to the house slides open. Lance swivels his head just as the exhale of smoke escaped his lips. Keith watches the cloud dissipate into the night air before locking eyes with Lance. 

“Didn’t know the party was out here,” Keith says quietly, conversationally, as he steps forward and leans against the porch rail next to Lance. His voice is like a breath Lance was too late to catch. 

“Party’s anywhere you want it to be, bud,” Lance murmurs, caught by the way Keith keeps watching him. He tells himself that’s the only reason these words tumble out of his mouth like an admission. He lifts the bowl as an offering to Keith, who takes it gingerly and lights a quick drag. Lance is captured by the way the small fire lights up Keith’s already sharp features—the night sky and flames make those edges even deadlier, ready to cut anyone who dared to get close. 

Lance wants to dare. Wants to embody defiance with every raptured look he offers to Keith. 

The inhale hollows out Keith’s cheeks, his eyes downcast as he watches the embers die out before turning that long neck to look at the stars for a heartbeat—two, then—the smoke dissolves into the trees and stars. The suspended moment breaks only with the soft coughing Keith tries to hide in his fist. Lance grins. 

“Always forget how rough it can be,” Keith says through another small cough, the edge of a smile on his lips. There’s something so fascinating at the way Keith’s entire _cool_ facade crumbles and he—Keith doesn’t even care, he just moves on and acts like this is just the way he _is_. And maybe—Lance guesses it could be how Keith is; what if after the intense debates in class Keith goes home and is this soft, confident thing trying to hide a smile into his sleeve?

Lance doesn’t know who he flattered to get so lucky, but he’d gladly do it again to keep that look on Keith’s face—and pointed at _him_ , holy fuck. 

“I could help you with that,” Lance tells him quietly, reverently. There’s a suggestion in the statement; like permission to jump the wall of casualty between them and press into some unknown territory. 

Keith watches the way Lance’s eyes can’t leave his lips for more than a few seconds—the way Lance’s fingers twitch toward the hem of his jacket. Lance tries to watch him back without getting distracted. Finally, Keith seems to visibly give in to something, his shoulders falling to curve his body toward Lance’s. Keith offers him the bowl back, an invitation. 

Lance lets out a breath that held itself, stuck in his chest until Keith pulled it out of him with such a simple gesture. He takes it and somehow doesn’t fumble it between Keith’s fingers and his lips. Lance tries to inhale as much as he can—mainly to try to look cool in the moment, but also to ensure he has enough to share. 

He doesn’t have to figure out which way would be smoothest for the next part because as soon as the bowl leaves his lips, Keith is circling Lance’s wrist with his fingers and pulling it away—while leaning up in that soft-confident way of his and pressing his lips to Lance’s. Lance feels the fire burning in his chest, begging him for release and can only oblige—bearing down into the kiss, parting Keith’s lips and breathing living smoke into Keith’s lungs on a sound he’d be ashamed of making so easily if Keith didn’t swallow it up like everything else Lance gives him. 

It’s barely enough heartbeats for Lance to feel alive before Keith is pulling away—his eyes are nearly closed, but the glimpse of storm-dark eyes peeking through his lashes is enough to turn Lance’s bones to magma. He misses Keith letting the breath they shared go, too transfixed with the way Keith’s skin reflects the moonlight. 

“That’s much better,” Keith murmurs, a joke in his voice but his eyes stay as intense as ever. It’s enough to pull Lance into the orbit of Keith’s body, inching closer in the cold night. 

“Glad to be of service,” Lance tells him and it’s just too close to honest to pass as a joke. Keith’s eyes light up brighter than the lighter did, something heated melting the core of Keith’s stare. “Why is it we haven’t really hung out before now?” 

Keith cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving Lance’s stare. “We’ve hung out.” 

“Library study nights don’t count,” Lance chides, offended Keith thinks Lance isn’t better than the _library_ for a social life. 

“Mmm,” Keith hums, that lift to his lips telling Lance he knows some joke that he’s not gonna share, “I don’t know, I always liked our date nights.” 

Lance’s heart sputters. “You thought those were dates?” 

“I mean, by definition—sure, we could call those dates if we tried to say tonight was moving too fast,” Keith’s voice is so light but still so soft, giving him a glimpse of that joke, and Lance grasps it with wide fingers. 

“I am 100% on board with this turn of events but please, babe, believe me I will be taking you on a much nicer date after this, okay?” 

Keith laughs, something quiet and easy between them, and Lance thinks it’s the best look he’s ever seen on Keith; the way his eyes crinkle slightly, how the curve of his lips confesses a tragic lack of laughter in that boy’s life—Lance is fascinated with every little detail that gets revealed to him, everything seemingly more focused for him with the night light reflecting off every arch and contour of Keith’s face. 

Or maybe it’s the weed, Lance isn’t so sure. 

“Alright, lover boy, whatever you say. Want to get back to the party?” The crook of Keith’s smile is back in hiding and Lance gets an undeniable urge to pull it back out. 

“Yeah, just give me one sec—” Lance tells him, putting the bowl to his lips for one more long drag, watching the way Keith’s eyes track the movement with an unreadable intensity through the lighter’s flame. When he’s dragged all the smoke into his lungs he can, Lance meets Keith’s eyes for one questioning moment before Keith is leaning in again—lips already parting against Lance’s at their first brush, Keith’s tongue pressing into his mouth just quickly enough to leave Lance completely breathless. 

And then Keith is stealing the escaped air from Lance’s lungs, pulling back with that too-intense stare again that makes Lance’s head spin. One touch—one touch, but it was so full of promise Lance has no choice but to follow Keith back into the house with a single-minded devotion. 

The party is as if they never left—air bouncing with the rhythm of too-loud music and his friends’ laughter that swims in Lance’s head and fills him with a giddiness that makes him float a little bit taller than usual. When he presses past Keith into the kitchen, he throws his arms up on a yell that’s echoed by the group playing beer pong with the crappiest beer shoved into Lance’s refrigerator. 

“So, Lance, you gonna challenge me after I wipe the floor with my little Pidgling?” Matt goads over an indignant squawk, completely focused on the ball poised between his fingers before flicking his wrist and— 

“My _dude_ , you gotta be able to back up your bullshit,” Lance coughs a laugh in his fist while cringing at the mocking sound of the ball ricocheting against the wall. 

“That’s right,” Pidge hoots, coming down from a laughing fit with Hunk. She gathers herself before grabbing the stray ball, dunking it in a water glass and— “Now, _island_ , motherfuckers,” she intones before the ball flies straight into the detached top of a three-cup pyrimid on Matt and Rolo’s side. 

“How the fu _ccccckkkkk_ ,” Lance hollers, screaming with the rest of the kitchen at the shot. Matt has dropped to the floor, one arm thrown over his eyes in defeat while Rolo chugs one of the last remaining beers on their side. 

“Who wants a piece of this?” Pidge bellows, raising a red cup in victory. “ _McClain_! Get your ass over here and get _whooped_ by your best friends!” 

“ _Et tu_ , Hunk?” Lance throws out an arm toward a reaching Hunk with a mock gasp of betrayal. He turns, a laugh still dancing on his lips, searching for Keith—except he’s already there, already at Lance’s side with a hip cocked out and a challenging grin on his face. 

“C’mon, _McClain_ , I don’t think you should take these challenges lightly,” Keith says, taking a step forward before throwing a playful smirk at Lance over his shoulder. “Wanna take ‘em down?” 

Lance is helpless but to nod, grin splitting his lips and a shout already pushing out of his throat as he clasps Keith’s hand in his and pulls him to the table. 

The rush of being watched while being Keith’s partner does something to Lance’s chest—he’s filled with a strange sort of pride, pulling and expanding against his ribs as something whispers through his lungs, _watch me, watch us—watch us be good together, watch us_ work _—_ and it’s exhilarating. Every time Keith hollers with their victories, turning that bright fire in his eyes at Lance and something they’re doing _together_ , Lance is _flying_ ; he soars through the game, vibrating with the energy of the room and the last time Keith high fived him over a sunk ball. 

And then when Lance convinces Keith to try a trick shot on the last ball needed to win the game and Lance pops the ball into the air with a burst of air—Keith takes a wild shot at it and it catches the rim of the last cup on Pidge and Hunk’s side, circling it on the gravity of everyone’s held breath as it sinks into the cup after a too-long heartbeat. 

“ _Nooo_ oo, you sneaky bastards,” Pidge howls, Hunk patting her shoulder consolingly with the last of their beers in his hand. Pidge snatches it and chugs it with a glare. Lance almost bowls over laughing. 

“Excuse you, Gunderson, but that was a clean win, ya hear? We can’t help being just that awesome.” Lance wipes a tear from the corner of his eye as he straightens up, leaning on Keith for support while he regains his composure. Keith catches him around the waist, fingers just shy of wandering at Lance’s beltline. 

Every inch of Lance’s body that’s touching Keith buzzes with the pressure of being seen—being watched as their bodies press so familiarly against each other’s, the way their victory is intertwined with their laughter and energy humming between them. It’s an itch under his skin that can only be soothed by more—more touching, more laughing, more _exposure_. They move from one game to another, keeping each other close without a word about it; neither of them seemed keen on letting the other breach their little orbit, too afraid of what the outside air might do to their atmosphere. 

Lance doesn’t know who suggests a game of cards—probably Pidge, since cards always ends in chaos around here and Pidge _thrives_ on chaos—but everyone has to crowd around their little coffee table and Keith presses up against Lance’s side, their backs fit snugly against the bottom of the couch. Their knees prop against each other under the table, and as the cards get shuffled out Lance feels Keith’s hand rest against his leg. Lance struggles to control his breathing, every nerve in his body alight where Keith’s fingers play with the frayed edges of one of the holes in Lance’s old, comfy joggers. Lance grips his cards in a crushing hold as Keith’s thumb slips inside the hole, gently brushing against the soft hair on Lance’s lower inner thigh underneath. 

And Keith—he’s so casual about, completely nonchalant. His hand is hidden under the table and with the way they all have to squish together, nothing looks abnormal when Keith has to press in closer to Lance, laughing at someone’s outburst over a lost hand. Lance thinks this is what an outer-body experience must feel like; like he’s been ripped from his consciousness, caught up instead by the way Keith’s touch electrifies every atom it ignites in Lance’s body.

By the time cards have been thrown at each other—offended and offending parties of the game laughing themselves into exhaustion—Hunk suggests a movie to wind everyone down before calling it a night and those left, those handful of people who were close enough friends with everyone to feel at home settling into any nook or cranny they could find, while Hunk set up some dumb romcom everyone somehow agreed on. 

“I might go see if there’s any blankets left,” Lance yawns before wandering down the hall, the adrenaline from being so exposed to Keith for so long finally wearing out his muscles and softening his body. He feels worn out in the best way, where everything feels like it’s stretched out around him and he’s just wading through the night. He’s lost in trying to determine which of the closet blankets are softest—so when two warm hands settle firmly on Lance’s hips, he can’t help the way his breath stutters in his chest. 

“I was gonna see if you wanted to take another hit before the movie, but it seems you might already be at your limit,” Keith laughs, his breath tickling the hair at Lance’s nape. Lance warms with the challenge in Keith’s teasing voice, unable to help himself from pushing back into Keith’s chest. 

“Hey, man,” Lance leans his head back on Keith’s shoulder, slowly getting overwhelmed at the sensation of Keith pressing up against him. Keith tilts his head so they can lock eyes, and Lance’s lips split into a slow grin. “I just like to enhance a good time, what’s the shame in that?” 

Keith’s eyes hold back an amusement that struggles to show on the corner of his lips. “I didn’t say you had any shame,” Keith tells him with too much amusement again. 

“Don’t be mean to me, Kogane.” Lance rolls his head off Keith’s shoulder and knocks him with his hip in vengeance. “Especially when you’re asking me to share, ya know.” He pulls his bowl and lighter from the soft pocket of his joggers, nodding for Keith to follow him to his room to refill. Keith’s presence at his back is insistent in its heat; powerful but steadying, giving Lance a sort of contentedness that flows through his veins way too easily. 

Lance leaves the door open; mostly, he trusts himself—but he also knows he’s an opportunistic optimist when the time arises, and he’s afraid of letting himself be alone with Keith would be tempting fate on not doing anything embarrassing tonight. Keith watches him as he pulls out his grinder from his desk drawer and packs the bowl—Lance knows because he can’t help but keep sneaking glances at Keith as he does so. 

When he’s lighting the first pull, somehow he’s gathered enough courage to take the few steps between them and reach for the back of Keith’s neck—he pulls Keith down by one hand the couple of inches it takes to meet Lance’s lips, so pliable and ready to part and breathe heat into Keith’s lungs. Keith’s hands lift to mimic Lance’s grasp, curling into the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck and his thumbs stroking the cut of his jaw before Keith is pulling away just enough to breathe out a pillow of smoke. Lance leans in to give Keith’s lips a small, pressing kiss before leaning out enough to light one last pull, eyes locked on Keith’s hazy gaze as the flame flickers against the helpless interest that reflects in those eyes. 

This time when their lips meet, it’s just an excuse—there’s a fog of breath between them as Keith licks into Lance’s mouth on a rough groan. Lance’s breath catches on his ribs like matches, igniting an outburst of _want_ that has him pressing up into Keith’s mouth on an achy whine. Lance can feel galaxies colliding with the slide of their tongues between barely stifled pants. 

Just as Lance feels like Keith may very well consume him right here—now, in the span of this suspended reality just for them—Keith breaks away on a groan that has Lance confused and searching, eyes half closed. Keith presses his swollen lips to Lance’s eyebrow, a reverent act that has Lance almost blushing at receiving such an invocation. 

“We should get back out to the party before they notice we’re missing,” Keith says, way too sensibly. Lance pouts, his groin aching to join in his hands’ search for friction. 

Keith manages to deflect Lance’s wandering fingers enough to deter him. “It’s not fair, you riling me up and then casting me out into the wild,” Lance says, way too dramatically for Keith to ever take seriously, and yet when Lance takes a peek at Keith’s reaction it’s one of soft amusement. Keith shrugs out of his jacket, handing it to Lance with a small smile. 

“You’re cold, right? Will this work as an apology?” Keith asks, all boyish and charming with that curving smile that’s asking Lance for _acceptance_ , for a chance to show all their friends that they _know_ each other—that they can’t get close enough, and they need to even share clothes to feel satisfied. Lance shivers and puts the bowl down on the table. 

Keith’s shirt is missing it’s sleeves, Lance thinks idly, too dazed by the sight of Keith’s lean and endless biceps to remember that tank tops are a thing that exist. He takes the proffered jacket with a numb nod, shrugging it on while his jaw slowly falls open at the way Keith’s muscles flex while he helps Lance get the sleeves right. 

“You can pick up your jaw any time now, you know,” Keith tells him with a smirk Lance doesn’t even have to see to know it’s hiding at the corner of his mouth. Lance can’t even muster the energy to bite back at him when he inhales at the collar of the soft, worn denim. There’s a deep and musky scent that overwhelms Lance, soothing him into some kind of stupor as he tries to pin down what it is. Sandlewood maybe? Bergamot? Something a little spicy, too, that has Lance’s mouth watering. He shamelessly pulls the collar closer with both hands clutching at it, inhaling a little deeper than considered normal. 

Keith watches him with something close to surprised adoration when Lance flutters his eyes back open, feeling worn out all over again from the deep introspection the scent suddenly threw him into. “I’ll take that as a yes to it being a good apology, then,” Keith breathes out, a flush crawling a pretty path across Keith’s cheekbones. 

“ _Yo_ , lovebirds, get y’asses in here already!” Matt hollers from the living room and Lance laughs at the exhilaration of it all. Keith’s fingers tangle with his in such an easy, fluid movement Lance is lost but to follow behind him, laughing at a joke neither of them have to say for it to already have them in fits. 

There’s only one chair left—suspiciously, it’s that one armchair that’s just a little too big for just one person, but Lance doesn’t want to make it obvious and thank his best bros for always having his back. Lance pulls Keith into his lap with eager arms, wrapped securely around Keith’s hips as they half-spoon to face the tv. They’re angled away from the rest of the room, enough that Lance feels brave enough to drift his fingers under the hem of Keith’s offensive tank top. 

Lance feels rather than hears the hitch in Keith’s breath. He feels the beads of skin raising to meet his fingertips at the soft skimming movements of his hands across Keith’s hips and tummy. The muscles of Keith’s abdomen contract tightly against his skin as Lances fingers pass over the soft hairs that lead lower, dipping beneath Keith’s belt line. 

Somehow Lance’s attention isn’t actually on the gentle skim of his fingertips over Keith’s dangerous and temping skin, but instead on the way he can feel the timeworn denim brush against his neck, up his chin—it’s such a soft touch of fabric, so well loved and offered so easily, it aches in Lance the simple generosity Keith offers without fanfare. It’s so refreshing—it fills Lance with a clean bubble of air, pressing against his lungs and expanding out so that Lance curls himself into Keith’s back, nuzzling his face into the back of Keith’s neck. 

Lance watches as the skin raises where his lips press against Keith’s spine, brushing past the fascinatingly soft hair curling at Keith’s ears. Every reaction that’s pulled so silently—so _minutely_ —out of Keith while everyone else in the room are forgotten but so, so _carefully_ in their peripheries, is enough to have Lance completely overcharged and leaking with energy by the time the credits roll and everyone starts to stretch and yawn their declarations of how late it’s getting. 

By the time people actually start to pitter off, giving tired hugs and solid shoulder pats as everyone shuffles out the door, Lance is practically vibrating with the need to climb inside of Keith and settle into every crease and crevice. Pidge has already gone to bed, grumbling about clean up in the morning, while Hunk gives Lance a raised eyebrow at the way Keith lingers at Lance’s side. Lance is too wound up to even defend himself, pulling Keith toward his bedroom across the house with a half-hearted _g’night_ thrown Hunk’s way. 

Keith is chuckling the entire time, too amused for Lance’s particular liking. “What’re’ya laughing at, you jerk?” Lance grumbles, shouldering Keith as they push through Lance’s bedroom door as an excuse to reach out, _touch_.

Keith takes his wrist and tugs Lance backward, causing him to stumble and catch himself on the wall. The way Keith presses back, hips slotting so carefully in with Lance’s, his fingers tangling with Lance’s and pinning that grasp into the wall behind them burns Lance up inside. Keith catches Lance’s eyes in a too-shy flutter of his lashes, “It’s just that we fit so easily together,” Keith sighs and Lance feels every exhaled breath against his shivering skin. His eyes drop half-closed, too focused on the way Keith’s lips curve into a sly smirk. “Which means you have to _intentionally_ try to piss me off during class.” 

Lance almost doesn’t process the words, too captured by the way Keith’s lips form each syllable and how each one pounds against Lance’s chest in a mixed up rhythm. But then the words filter past the beat and—

“ _Hey_ ,” Lance squawks, swatting at Keith’s chest with an escaped hand before pushing past him—the jerk has the audacity to laugh again, so beautifully it aches in Lance’s marrow; it resonates somewhere deep in his bones, vibrating him from the inside out. 

“Now you know how I felt every day you’d push all my buttons,” Keith tells him through a too-proud smirk that Lance wants to bite— _kiss, punch_ —right off his face. He still lets Keith follow him to his bed, flopping back against the plush down comforter with an _oof_ that has Keith rolling toward him, propping himself up on his bent elbow. 

Lance watches him for a heartbeat that expands against his ribcage, pulsating throughout his entire body before Lance has the strength to roll to stare back. He mirrors Keith’s position, fingers protesting the idea of not just reaching out and seeking contact with Keith’s warmth. He folds his fingers against his own chest instead, only letting himself get closer by an inclined head. 

“Why’d you let me push you buttons so much, then?” Lance whispers, fingertips pressing into his hammering heartbeat against his chest. 

Keith hums, his eyes intense but unfocused, and Lance gets lost in imaging what Keith must be feeling like right now. Lance wants to push those stupidly hot shoulders of Keith’s back down into the bed, wanting him to feel enveloped by the comforter like Lance does. Wants Keith to sink in here so deeply he’ll never want to pull himself out of it. 

“It never felt like you were being mean about it; you always looked so hooked by it, like whenever I played your little game you would light up and—it’s addicting, Lance. _You’re_ addicting,” Keith’s eyes fall into focus on that last bit, a slow grin opening up his face as he looks self-satisfied at finding the right words; words that are landmines in Lance’s chest, setting off crackling energy that expands and presses against his lungs. Lance thinks he’ll never breathe again and then— 

Then Keith blinks over at him and Lance is able to deflate on a loose breath as Keith reaches out and thumbs the swell of Lance’s bottom lip. Lance watches the way Keith’s eyes catch on the way his thumb presses into that giving flesh with such rapt intensity that Lance can’t help but admit, “I couldn’t help it, man. It seemed to be the only way I could get so much of your attention and I—” Lance swallows, burning up at the way Keith’s stare quickly switches to watch the bob of his throat, “All I can think about is having all of your attention, Keith.” The admission is breathed into Keith’s palm as it twists to press against Lance’s cheek. 

“You have it,” Keith assures him; that hand drifts down Lance’s neck with skittering fingers until it finds a firm grip on Lance’s hip so he can leverage Lance closer, a warm press together as Lance happily wraps his arms under Keith’s jacket to let his hands roam in lazy, curious paths over the fabric of the back of his shirt. It’s soft and Lance is transfixed with the way Keith shivers at the contact. “You’ve always had it.” 

Lance feels the words melt into his skin and boil his blood, making him impatient in a way he never thought he could be with such a pliable Keith under his fingertips. “Keith, I can’t take so many _clothes_ between us, man, can we _ple_ ase—” 

Keith is nodding before Lance can even make himself choke out an agreement, and Lance thinks they must be tuning themselves into the same wavelength with every forgotten inch between them. 

Keith’s fingers paw at the collar of the jacket still wrapped around Lance, pushing it down Lance’s shoulders with the help of a little shimmy from Lance, eagerly pulling it off and rolling with the momentum by tugging the hem of his shirt over his head and tossing it without a second thought. Keith is staring at him by the time Lance settles back down on the bed, wiggling his joggers down his hips. 

Lance stops, his waistband stretched tight around his thighs as he gives Keith a questioning look. “What’s wrong, dude?” It suddenly feels too intense for Lance’s lungs and his chest collapses just a little, a crack under pressure. 

Then the pressure releases as Keith’s gaze turns so predatory that it catches Lance’s breath on the way out as it decompresses. Keith drops his underwear from where it’s gripped in his white-knuckled grasp, his eyes rapt on the way Lance’s length bobs against his tummy as it springs free from the elastic of Lance’s pants. It strains under Keith’s gaze, throbbing with a need to pull Keith closer. 

It’s so instinctual to reach out for Keith’s hips, fingers deftly skimming up the sides of Keith’s torso as he settles over Lance’s half-covered lap. Lance gasps at the hot drag of Keith’s entire length as he seats himself with a half roll of his body, hips moving in a way that has Lance’s fingers clinging to the firm flesh and groaning at the sensations. 

Keith’s warm red tank top feels like gravel between their bodies and Lance thinks he might actually perish if it isn’t removed in the next ten seconds. He tries to convey this as best as he can—by pushing at the hem, shoving it up over Keith’s shoulders and dumb, soft hair. 

“Fuck, man,” Lance breathes out, eyes stuck on the way those perfect biceps can be traced down into such thick forearms—and those _fingers, Jesus Christ_. Belatedly, Lance realizes he’s reached his hand out and his fingertips are brushing over the trembling muscles of Keith’s stomach before reaching the swell of his hips, pulled taut with the way Keith’s thighs are straddling Lance’s lap. “How can you get any more goddamn perfect?”

It’s an honest question, Lance thinks, but Keith blushes like it’s flattery; Lance absently tucks that away to pull out and work on later with Keith. Because like hell if Lance is going to let this little _goddamn_ piece of heaven out of his grip now that he has him. Keith finally manages to meet Lance’s eyes again when he breathes out, “Do you have any lube? I wouldn’t mind just keeping this going but honestly, I want to ride you more than anything right now.” 

Lance lets out a breath that suspiciously sounds like _I guess that’s how_ before he’s scrambling to find the bottle of lube he keeps stashed in his nightstand. The way Keith keeps grinding himself gently over Lance’s lap like it’s not completely maddening almost sends Lance into cardiac arrest before he’s able to flip the cap and warm some of the liquid between his fingers. Keith has that predatory look again when Lance reaches between them—one hand gripped firmly on one of Keith’s parted thighs, the other skimming under Keith’s erection, fingers deftly finding the burning heat between Keith’s legs. 

Keith lets out a satisfied little groan when Lance’s middle finger dips slowly inside him—he leans back, hands braced on Lance’s clothed knees. It’s like watching a painting be made in action, Lance thinks. The way Keith arches when Lance’s finger presses in twisting circles inside him, the way his mouth drops in a silent prayer for more—it all overwhelms Lance’s senses and he feels like he’s going to burn out of his skin if he doesn’t get to feel deeper inside Keith. 

It’s with a fluid and searching thrust that Lance finds Keith’s prostate and curls into it, only to watch—open mouthed, low lidded, and completely reverent—as it bows Keith’s back and has him gasp out Lance’s name. It feels like an offering—a plea, and Lance is nothing but a saint when someone is so desperately in need of a little more pleasure in their life. The giving and warm slide of Lance’s fingers against that little bundle of nerves is satisfying enough to have Lance throbbing against his own stomach, aching to seek that heat as well. 

Lance starts to drag his middle finger out in a crooked motion, pulling a gasp from Keith that pounds against Lance’s chest at the glory of setting it free. Keith meets Lance’s gaze, his dark eyes half lidded and so far lost that it has Lance groaning when he presses that finger back in with a second one, massaging in a circular way that Keith seems to like in an apology for the keening noise Keith straightens himself out on. 

The room is so silent, the only light coming from Lance’s desk from so far earlier that Lance has trouble thinking that much back right now. It feels like ages ago, time something that keeps sliding under Lance’s skin and only stretching into reality during the really fucking good moments like this one. The warm light reflects off Keith’s back and it casts such pretty shadows across Keith’s face as Lance curls an insistent rhythm into his prostate. 

Keith’s tight ring of muscle has a hot grip on Lance’s fingers and it feels so fucking raw, this connection between their bodies. It such an easy glide because Keith grips him closer with greedy little pulls that have Lance practically igniting with the need to give him more—more of what he so obviously wants, what he’s gripping Lance closer to provide. 

“Lance, you’re—” Keith chokes out, breaking off on little huffs of air as Lance pets him firmly, insistently, with those two buried fingers. 

“I’m what?” Lance asks, a little more than a breath mixing with the humid air between them. 

Keith groans, angling his hips back so he can seat himself firmly against Lance’s palm, sighing when the movement shoves Lance unbelievably deep inside him. Keith looks at him from under lazy lashes as he finishes, “You’re being too gentle.” 

Lance feels like there’s been electricity set free in his bloodstream, shocking every nerve it races past until the right ones were triggered into action to make Lance press his hips up with his grip—creating an extension to his fingers, giving his thrust so much more intensity that it knocks that smirk on Keith’s face into a cry. Lance’s grip on one of Keith’s thighs travels up to Keith’s hip, pressing him down into the insistent press of Lance’s fingers. 

“Oh fu _-uhhhck_ , _Lance_ , Jeee _-sus,_ ” Keith groans out, his hips joining Lance’s guiding grip in shallow, purposeful little thrusts that have Lance shifting a little with each powerful movement. It’s like Keith is seeking something with such deliberate intention that Lance feels honored to serve it to him so openly. 

Lance gets lost on the way their bodies look so violently combined; pressed so tightly together, slick and swollen with want, and yet they still fit so perfectly together. It feels like his center of gravity has shifted suddenly to bear the weight of this person fit so snugly in the palm of his hand. 

“I wanna be in you Keith, it feels like _too much_ —” Lance tells him in a rush of wanting breath. Keith is nodding with him, eyes hazy with want or weed—Lance honestly can’t tell which one is easing Keith off his perch on Lance’s lap so that Lance can wrestle a condom from his nightstand and roll it down his length with a little extra tight squeeze at the base, giving himself a breath to calm down before Keith settles his thighs over Lance’s hips again and eases himself down—just shy of hovering over the tip of Lance’s cock, it twitching at the heat above it. 

Keith looks up from where he’s pressed against him—hands folded against Lance’s chest, gripping for any purchase they can find—as Keith’s hips lean back against Lance’s dick. Lance sucks in a breath at the absolutely all-encompassing intensity that is being swallowed up by Keith’s body. It shakes Lance up at his core and humbles him in his bones, as he uses both hands to guide Keith back into his sitting position on Lance’s lap. 

Keith’s gaze stays locked with his the entire time—so open and trusting and telling Lance _yes, please, just_ move—as he pants with the strain of letting Lance nestle all the way to the base of his shaft, completely sheathed in the addicting heat inside Keith. “Lance, please, I—” Keith mouths out on breathless groans, eyes desperate and wanting and Lance just wants to _give_. 

“I’m going to fuck you, baby, okay? Try not to be too loud, sweetheart,” Lance tells Keith with reverent sweeps of his hands down Keith’s sides, and Keith only has a moment where his eyebrows crease in confusion before Lance is reaching around Keith to push the waistband of his joggers down to his ankles, coming back up in a fluid motion and settling in against the pillows and headboard before gripping Keith’s hips once more and giving Keith one slow, promising grin before— 

“Shit, fu _ck_ , _Lance_ —” Keith’s hand flies to his mouth to bite back a moan as Lance’s hips whip up and forward, pushing Keith onto his forearm to brace himself above Lance’s chest as Lance drives himself deeper—harder— _faster—_ into Keith and right into that pocket of nerves that have Keith hiding whimpers in Lance’s neck.

Lance’s grip on Keith’s hips drifts up his back—across his spine—back down to his thighs—dipping to grab that tight, round ass that has Lance helpless but to thrust purposefully up into Keith’s giving heat. It’s overwhelming, the way Lance’s world constricts and retracts with every breath Keith pants against his ear; Lance feels compelled to burrow as close as he can inside Keith, arms wrapping around Keith’s lithe waist on a groan. Lance buries his face in the crook of Keith’s neck, his hips caught in a mindless rhythm that feels like nothing compared to the way Keith’s hands come up to cradle Lance’s face closer. Keith’s fingers shake with their grip on Lance’s neck, his jaw, the back of his head—Keith touches him everywhere, every new thrust of Lance’s hips pulling another readjustment out of Keith’s fingers. 

It feels so devout, the way Keith pulls him close and chants his name in breathy little sighs. God help him, but Lance is lost in the fealty between them and can only add to the litany of sighs and sounds. It’s almost too much to take; he squeezes a hand between them, his fingers barely wrapping around Keith’s length when Keith’s reverence begins to slip into a near-silent cry that eclipses the way he practically collapses into Lance—almost violently, Keith curls himself like a whip around Lance with a heaving moan and tight, unrelenting pulls against Lance’s dick. It all has Lance overwhelmed in the best way before he’s coming in such a starburst of white-hot intensity. 

It throbs beneath his skin with the way Lance is eaten up with the supernova exploding repeatedly in his veins, alighting him with fire and heat that bursts out of him. Lance can’t help but to ride out the fall from the crest of the detonation—the aftermath still shaking in his bones—with loose rolls of his hips. Keith is pressed closer with each thrust from the way he’s already so curled into Lance—like he’s trying to burrow into Lance and make a home and dear lord, Lance thinks deliriously he may just let him. 

There’s come drying between Lance’s fingers where his hand is still loosely wrapped around Keith’s softening cock, and Keith’s face is pressed wetly against the side of Lance’s neck as he struggles to get his breath back. It should be gross—and absently, Lance thinks it is—but the urge to just stay buried inside of Keith for at least just a bit longer wins out and Lance settles in with one arm wrapped tightly around Keith’s lithe waist. 

Lance leans his face into the top of Keith’s head, taking a deep breath before pressing his lips to the wild hair there. Keith sighs—more of a gust of air leaving his lips, really—before nestling in closer. One of his hands come up to cup the other side of Lance’s neck and he’s surrounded, now—everywhere is Keith and it feels eternal in a way that would probably would be scary if he wasn’t still flying high. Time feels stretched between them like it was always meant to slow down, here, in these moments. 

“Didn’t know it could be that good,” Keith mumbles and it’s almost lost in a smear against Lance’s neck but he still manages to catch the words. Pride swells in Lance’s chest, something warm and affectionate and too, too soft. 

“Yeah? Had you not ever, you know… Taken before?” If Lance is honest, most of his male partners in the past had usually taken one look at Lance’s long legs and flirty grin and wanted to bend him over something. Not that Lance was complaining; there was always a time and a place, and Lance happened to enjoy each time and each place, thank you very much. But with Keith’s entire demeanor—the sly smiles Lance had to steal away, the words offered with measured timing, the muscles that go for miles—Lance had been fully prepared to take _whatever_ Keith wanted to give him tonight, okay, but having Keith completely boneless in his arms, worn out from Lance fucking the sense out of him? Priceless. 

“‘S not that,” Keith breathes out a long, satisfied breath and it raises the skin across Lance’s chest as the sweat starts to cool on his skin. “I have, a couple times. But… And don’t let this go to your head, okay, McClain? But it had never been like _that_. It’s never been that good.” 

Lance is grinning before he can even feel his face split with it. “Damn, Keith, way to turn the best sex of my life into like, the best night of my life, period.” 

“You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?” Keith huffs out a laugh. 

“Aw, babe, don’t worry, I’ll make up for it with my dazzling personality and—apparently—world shattering sexabilities.” 

“That’s not even a word,” Keith grumbles but Lance can feel the affection in it as Keith nuzzles in closer with a sigh. 

“We should probably get cleaned up, you know,” Lance adds, conversationally, though he’s pretty sure he’ll just have to cut his hand off now with how dried the come is. Ah, the sacrifices one has to make for romance. 

“Mmhm,” Keith agrees, Lance thinks, but makes no move to disentangle himself from Lance. 

Lance doesn’t move either, though, so he thinks it’s only fair to let Keith rest a little longer. Besides, Lance is so warm and content—everything feels so big right now, expanding and contracting, making space for Keith here and now—and maybe tomorrow, and the next day too. It’ll take some rearranging, but Lance thinks he has just enough room left inside himself to hold Keith dearly close. 

And maybe he’ll be scared about it in the morning when the haze has worn away, and maybe he and Keith will have to navigate whatever _this_ is when they’re clear headed. But from the way Keith is so determinedly wrapped around Lance like he’d fight the entire galaxy if the universe tried to separate them right now, Lance thinks he doesn’t have too much to worry about, anyway. 

Everything else could wait until morning. 


End file.
